Who: John Wick johnwick & OTA What: Walking through town. When: Friday, June 5, midday Where: Downtown Test City Rating: General Audiences Warnings: He's a professional killer with some anger issues. He's -generally speaking- polite. Status: Open/In Progress
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Test City spawned its own nuisances. There was a never-ending stream of new transplants. Every day it seemed some new variable was introduced to their strange equation and math had never been John's strong suit---unless it was only subtraction. He was very good at subtracting people. It had kept him comfortable financially for too many years to count. No one had expected John Wick to live to be old. His profession didn't make room for old players. Theirs was a game designed for the young, the adaptable, the quick who didn't want to wind up dead.
John Wick was an exception to all the rules in that he was neither young nor adaptable. He also didn't care if he wound up dead. People spoke mostly of how he chose to kill. It wasn't about skill so much as it was about sheer ruthlessness. A death was a death. There was nothing noble in it for anyone. A shot to the head was no cleaner than a pencil through a carotid artery. They both left the target marked off the list; John didn't need elegance on his side to prove his worth. The bodies he left behind did that for him.
Every step through the town he had landed in made him feel more and more uneasy. Test City was nothing yet everything the same as Composite City had been. Both places were abduction sites. One chose to take a person with a bit of paraphernalia from home with the other chose to take them with only what they carried. The things someone carried spoke to their character as much as their hair color. John knew that better than most given how little it was he chose to carry on any given day.
Whoever was in charge had chosen incongruously to sit him in the seat of Sheriff. John thought it was a mistake on their part. He wasn't one to take responsibility for others. He was barely one to take responsibility for himself. Now he'd lost everything? John Wick was a dangerous man who was more than willing to use anything at his disposal to ensure he took care of business. He'd worked too hard on his reputation to sacrifice it in some stranger's test zone for the insane and abducted. John had no idea what war was being waged around him.
All he knew was, in the end, he'd win.
John Wick didn't know how to lose.
Losing meant dying and he was too busy living for that.
Pulling his gun from its holster under his jacket, John cocked his head to the side as he aimed it at the supposed 'dome' over them. He didn't say a word as he pulled the trigger. There was a sharp sound as it hit something and a burst of light. Nothing fell from the sky. Nothing broke. There was no ricochet. It was as if it simply got absorbed by something unseen. An invisible fence, he thought with a twist of his lips as he holstered his weapon once more. There was no reason to panic over it at this stage. It was only one more thing to factor in.
"My apologies for the noise," he said to the person who'd stopped on the sidewalk, seemingly paused mid movement by the sight of a man shooting at the sky in the middle of the street, "I was testing a theory."